In The Line Of Fire!
Inauguration night. Spike was sworn in at preceisely twelve noon today with Carly and Daniel standing beside him once again in the General Assembly chamber. Tonight, however, is for celebration. A new Secretary General brings hundreds of members of the global community. Glitz. Glamor. Celebrities. Held in the open air at Lincoln center under starry skies and a full moon, there's no telling what the night will hold in store for those gathered. Compton Xabat is dressed up in his NetNews disguise again, chatting idly with the guests about whatever global issues are being debated nowadays. There are a lot of other Netnews reporters in the room, too, although, oddly, they all have Eastern European accents and keep asking lame, dull questions. That's rather odd, isn't it? Carly Witwicky sits at a table nursing a glass of champangne. The older woman is dressed in a red off the shoulder gown, which is layered stylishly down the skirt with sheer mattereal of the same shade of bright red as the rest of her gown. Her hair is up in a french twist accented with a red flower. She appears to be watching the going ons with a softly aged smile along her lips. Jayson Redfield is in fairly casual clothes...and apparently being sneaky. Or trying to. He's eyeing the alcohol, and talking to an older EDC trooper. "Can I have a drink?" "No." "Why not?" "You're underage." "Shoot." He scurries off to get himself a soda instead. Spike Witwicky is sitting next to his wife, though he's not drinking. There might not be much time for him to do so, as he every few minutes he's wisked away to shake hands with Generalissimo this or President that. However, as soon as that's done he returns to his wife's side. Marissa Faireborn strides in, wearing a rather flattering black sleeveless dress. Her hair has been done up, and her purse is tucked under her left arm. It is not often Marissa bothers to dress fancy. She doesn't normally go to parties like this. The most striking accessory on Marissa tonight, however, is cell phone practically glued to her right ear. "Mom?" she says, trying to walk and hold the phone between her head and shoulder in that way that everyone tries but never seems to work. "Yeah, we won the battle. I'm calling like you as-" Pause. "Ok... ok, y-" Pause. "Ok, mom, I've got t-" Pause. "But I've got to go, I-" Pause. "I got other stuff to do." Pause. "Mom?" Pause. "No I didn't try throwing a javelin at them, mom." Pause. "Be-" Pause. "Yeah, I know, bu-" Pause. "Javelins never work, mom." Pause. Marissa is awkwardly making her way through the Assembly Room towards Carly and Spike's table. "Because they're giant robots, mom. It doesn't work on-" Pause. "Y-" Pause. "Yeah, I know. I gotta go." Marissa is now at the Witwicky's table, but remains standing for the conversation. "Yeah, I love you too. I gotta go. B-" Pause. "Ok, talk to you later." Marissa taps the button on the cell phone, ending the call. "JEEZ," Marissa says, giving out a huge exhausted sigh. She flops down at a chair at the table. William is doing his standard guard thing. Though this time, instead of camping by a door, he's actually mobile and making his way around the room. An Eastern European reporter suddenly walks in front of William, holding a microphone in front of his face. "Excuse me, sir, vill you ansver some questvuns for our viewors?" he asks in his thick accent. The dude looks REALLY rough and tough for somebody that's supposed to be some sort of internet reporter. Meanwhile, Xabat hovers about thirty feet from Spike's table, asking some of the other guests questions so that his presence there doesn't seem too odd. William stops as the reporter sticks a microphone under his chin. Looking down at the man, the Scout raises a brow. Normally he'd just say no and push the man out of his way. But, during his last performance appraisal, his CO and General Briar suggested that it might behoove him to practice a little more diplomacy. So, those words still ringing in his ears, he gives a nod and says "Yes." Michael Briar is enjoying himself, for the most part. With a champagne glass in one hand and cracker smeared with fish eggs in the other, he looks out of place here. Like Charles Bronson at a PTA function. He keeps an eye patch over the optic and is dressed in an EDC formal uniform. Spit and polish, pomp and circumstance and all that. Jayson Redfield grabs a can of soda and darts off to the side, and seats himself at a currently unoccupied table. After setting the can down, he pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. He presses some buttons, apparently messing with the setting, then dials a number. "Bro? Hey! No...haven't gotten killed--haven't gotten kicked out, either!...you suck, Zack..." Carly Witwicky shifts her eyes toward Michael then to Compy, then to William, then Marissa. Quirking a brow a slight she quietly ponders if she should have worn a black dress too, since Marissa's was nice. Powerglide arrives as gracefully as he can; a chore in which he struggles with quite often. He's not exactly aesheticaly pleasing as of now what with dirtied armor and recent conspicuous repairs, but hey, atleast he actually showed up, right? James Bailey circulates through the crowd in a freshly ironed EDC dress uniform. He ends up at Jayson's table, although he doesn't sit down. He rolls his eyes slightly as he overhears one side of the phone conversation, then moves in front of Jayson and mimes waving bye, then hanging up a phone. Jayson Redfield blinks a bit at James, but gets what he's saying. "Look, bro, I'll talk to you later, okay? Yeah, I'll call if somethin' happens, stop worrying so much. You're starting to sound like Mom." He pauses. "Yeah, you go beat up those punks. Later." He ends the conversation and slips the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. "Hey, James," he greets his teammate, opening the soda can. Two friends both wearing black dresses to the same event never turns out well. Slipping her cell phone back into purse, Marissa rests her elbows on the table and holds her head as if suffering a headache. "You wouldn't /believe/ the trouble I go through with my parents," she complains. "It's always one thing or another, and..." Marissa waves her hand dismissively, "Well, it's not important." Marissa forces herself to brighten up again. "We're here to celebrate Spike's return to power, after all," She says, giving Spike a friendly smile. "Say, where are they handing out the champagne?" she then suddenly asks Carly. This might at first glance seem like a sudden chance of topic, but upon digging deeper one will realize it is not. Compton Xabat frowns as he quietly wonders when the Decepticons are going to show up already. It would be true to form for those predictable machines. He glances over at the thug, er, reporter chatting with William. Huh. He remembers that guy.. before he joined the Protectorate. Damn. That feels like... forever ago. He looks a little sad for a moment. The researcher had such high hopes and then-- "Um, yes, you were interested in the recent elections?" the President of Zimbabwe asks. "Oh, right," Xabat replies. "Well, there have been concerns about election fraud, sir and our readers would be reassured if--" He continues on like that for a while.The thug, meanwhile, asks William, "Yes, how you feel about, uh, peace on Earth?" An obviously ridiculous question. And the guy seems to be getting in William's way a lot. Kinda... slowing him down, maybe. Michael Briar figures he should start wondering around. That and he hasn't even congratulated Spike yet. Michael downs the last bit of bubbly in his glass and sets it on a passing waiter's serving plate. It was good, but it's unlikely he'll have more. Michael carefully picks his way though the crowd, making sure to avoid the leech like advisors who are scattered about making small talk. Finally, he reaches Spike and Carly's table and says, "Well, once again, you're back in the hot seat. Better there than in an exo-armor, huh?" He nods to Carly and says, "Hello Carly." Powerglide kind of stands around a bit, feeling /really/ out of place. Arms crossed over his chest, his optics dart about the various, small figures before he catches sight of possibly the only one he recognised. He makes his way over to, erhm, Marissa right? Geez, they all looked the same to him, really. "Heeeyyy...." He pauses. "..You! How's it goin'?" Spike Witwicky smiles softly to Marissa and motions over to a nearby table where there's the nifty champange pyramid as well as well dressed bartenders pouring and serving glass upon glass of bobbly. "I'm just glad you could make it. I was hoping you could after the confirmation hearing, since you looked so damn bored there.." he says to one of his former's C/O's. Speaking of, it's about then that Mikey shows up and speaks "Well, I said it before and I'll say it again..soldiering is a young man's game. I was always better at," he waves his hand around, "this stuff, anyway." Rampage collapses down onto all fours, his beast head replacing the position of his robotic head. He now stands before you in Tiger mode. William realizes that the 'reporter' is trying to stop him from his patrol, and continuing to try to be as diplomatic as possible, stops and gives the guy his full attention. Hearing the question, William thinks about it for a moment and then responds in the most pleasant voice he can muster, which isn't anything different than his normal gruffness, "I would like it." PR firm material he isn't, but at least he hasn't pulled a gun on the guy yet. Near the Lincoln Center, a Tiger is prowling. The big orange-and-red-and-black mecha-beast is itching to start some trouble. Itching...and then stops momentarily to scratch behind his ear with his hind leg. Smells pour into his olfactory sensors--smells of food, wine, and the unmistakable stenches of both Humans and Autobots. Growling softly, he sneaks closer to the are and awaits his moment to strike. It is not yet. F-16 Falcon flies along steadily apparently not in a rush to get anywhere or maybe it's just part of the security detail doing a slow sweep of the perimeter. Either way it's not entirely threatening at the moment though there does seem to be a chill wind coming from it, nah it's just your imagination. Isn't it? While the Minibot might not be able to recognize individual humans, individual humans can certainly recognize him. He exudes sheer awesomeness, after all. The Colonel breaks into a grin and doesn't seem to notice the Autobot's confusion. "Powerglide! So glad you could make it. I'm doing just fine, though traffic was terrible getting here. Luckily I took the Warthog, which is easy enough to park /anywhere/." Marissa doesn't mention what a bitch it was to drive a tank while trying not to ruin one's dress. Glancing over at Spike, Faireborn tsks, "Speak for yourself, Secretary General. I plan on being a soldier forever." Though when Marissa is in his place in thirty-some years, one wonders if she might be singing a different tune. Michael Briar nods and can't but help agree with Marissa, "As am I. A few of my advisors suggested that I made a run for a position in the US government. But no, I hate politics. You're much better at it than I am." Powerglide places his hands on his hips and grins. Well, no one can see it under his faceplate, but trust me, he's grinning. After a few glances around the area, he poses a question, "So, eh, what's goin' on again?" Spike Witwicky chuckles at his younger ex-commanders, arm moving around Carly and giving her a squeeze. He raises his champagne glass, "To the two of you staying young forever. May you suceed at it better than I have!" "Dah," the thugporter asks. He looks around stupidly for a few moments, trying to imagine what else an internet reporter would ask. "Uh... how you feel about Jason Maxville divorcing Betty Sarandon?" Those two names he mentioned are movies stars in the year 2029. Xabat, finishing his conversation with the President of Xababwe, smirks as he looks his microphone. "Oh, I can't wait to unleash your little secret, my friend." He sweeps his gaze across the Assembly Hall. "Heheh, there truly is more to you and your brothers than... meets the eye! Heheheh!" "We're celebrating Spike's return to being Secretary General?" Marissa says to Powerglide to see if it's ringing any bells or not. "Hoenstly, Powerglide, you do watch the news, right?" she asks. At Spike's sudden toast, Marissa beams and raises the water glass that every seat has. The Colonel hasn't found where they're keeping the champagne yet. Though a little late? Look who's shown up. Arcee seems to be in a good mood. Normally, she would be trying to avoid being spotted, but... well... she's an Autobot. It's not like she's easy to be missed. This is a good day. A happy day. And she's just there to enjoy the company and congratulate a long-time friend of the Autobots. Michael Briar smiles a bit, how true Spike is. But youth isn't an end all of life. Someday Michael wants out of this war, but for now, he's doing his duty and saving lives where he can. That's good enough for him. He picks up another champagne glass from a passing waiter during the toast and holds it up as well before taking a drink. Jayson Redfield casually sips his soda, watching the various goings-on. He sees Michael, and ponders going to say hi. He's not as nervous around the general as he had been on his first day, so that's a start, at least. "Well, this is fun, ain't it?" he remarks to no one in particular. William raises a brow again, but this time doesn't bother trying to hide it from the reporter. "I do not care" he says flatly. He's begining to wonder what this guy is doing at such a refined event. And that leads him to wonder other things. Paranoia kicking in, he raises an arm to push the reporter out of the way reciting the one thing he DOES know about public relations with the press, "No comment." He begins to walk away, scanning the room as he looks for a danger that has yet to show it's face. Powerglide looks even more confused than he was before, "News? Wha-?" What was she implying? That there was something better to watch than cartoons and inappropriate reality shows? Psshaw~ As if! While wondering why anyone would watch T.V and not automatically turn to Cartoon Network, he spies Arcee for the first time in a while. "Hey there, ma'am!" he shouts. Spike Witwicky waits for a passing server carrying a tray of fine french champagne and snags two glasses. He hands one to Marissa and keeps one for himself. "I don't blame you for not watching the news, Powerglide. There are days I don't wanna watch it myself." The bearer of the matrix of gloom flies onwards, the fact that far below there's a party for the humans going on has nothing to do with the reason for him being here. While most find it spooky or disconcerting to fly at night Dreadwind actually feels strangely at home in the darkness, that and he'd been ordered to leave the base immediately for some quiet time. Oddly the one that had given the order looked more relieved as Dreadwind left than he did. James Bailey nods in approval as Jayson is off his phone and has his attention back on the celebration again. It's quite a belated nod, but better late than never. "Hey kid...ready to learn the military fine art of 'mingling with the brass'?" James seems to have decided that mentoring Jayson in all of the official and unofficial duties of an EDC trooper officially falls into his role. James gestures with his head towards the crowd. "C'mon, let's get back into the mix." Marissa Faireborn manages to avoid rolling her eyes at Powerglide's confusion by taking a sip of her water. Once done, however, she realizes that water isn't going to last her through the evening. "I'm going to go see if I can't round up some champagne," she says, standing up. "Watch my purse, will you?" she asks Spike, giving him the mighty responsibility as she sets it down on her chair in order to save it. "Does anyone else want anything while I'm up?" she asks the others at the table. Mecha-Tiger is completely at home in the dark. Using the shadows to his advantage, he stays out of sight. He glances up as a sudden chill passes over him. Good, some backup. However, the Tiger does not make the first move. He leaves that to others. Oh, he's going to enjoy being the party-pooper. Oh yes, indeed. Arcee nods just slightly to Powerglide, smiling amiably before turning her optics toward the humans. She watches them for a moment, then looks back at Powerglide, smiling again as she /very/ carefully moves in his direction, finally pausing as near as she can with him. "You don't have to call me ma'am, you know," she points out. "It's good to see you, Powerglide. This is some party, isn't it...?" Jayson Redfield looks to James with a grin. "Sure thing!" He quickly downs the rest of his drink, disposes of the can, and stands, idly straightening out his clothes. "So where to first? We could go talk to Spike, I guess." Michael Briar shakes his head, "I'm good..." as he nurses the glass he has already. He reaches up to the ear piece he has on and taps it to half speak and half mumble into it. At least it's distracting him a bit from the party. Powerglide lifts the back of his hand to the side of his face as he whispers to Arcee, "Yeah, if you're a human. It's a little lackin', ya know?" He drops his hand and places it back on his hip, "Aw well, atleast everyone's happy and no one is bustin' in and trying to ruin everything, right?" Optics dart this way and that before he speaks again, "So, hey, is anyone else showin' up, or..what?" James Bailey's eyebrows raise. "Spike? No...talking to him is easy, he's too approachable. We'll save him for last. Or later...maybe when you need a little morale boost." He smirks. Then he turns and leads Jayson through the crowd to a group of lesser-known Generals and Colonels, who just happen to be already in conversation with a small group of foriegn diplomats. He waits at the edge of the group until one of the Colonels spots them. "You there, troopers...you're from the Mechanical Ghosts, right? Quite a few of those new Talons in your squadron, am I correct?" James gives Jayson an encouraging (and slightly expectant) look. Jayson Redfield suppresses an eep, clearly startled at being addressed, but quickly regains his composure. "Ah, yes! Mechanical Ghosts, that's us. And yes...new Talons, all right." Compton Xabat frowns, getting impatient. Maybe the Decepticons won't show up after all. In which case, he'll have to start without them. Tapping a button on his wristwatch, the other NetNews "reporters," alerted by a buzzing on their own watches, stop what they're doing (probably to Williams' relief) and start to congregate on him. He nods to the thugs, and, as one, they begin to march towards Spike's table. Xabat calls out, in a non-Spanish accent, "Spikey! It is so good to see you again..." THEN his Spanish accent cuts in. "...you little PANDEJO!" Then something odd happens. Xabat and his men tap buttons on their equipment, and, accompanied by the classic Transformation sound, microphones suddenly become strange looking guns, and cameras turn into assault rifles. Xabat takes his own phone/gun and fires off a shot into the ceiling. "Nobody move!" he warns, then aims the odd gun at Spike Witwicky. "Or your new Secretary-General..." He smirks obnoxiously. "...will DIE." Marissa Faireborn finds the table where they keep the champagne. And if this wasn't enough, there's snacks and the like here as well. Marissa takes one of those little paper plates that are never sturdy enough to hold what you want and starts loading up. She also takes a flute of champagne. Nervously adjusting one of her 'earings', Marissa hears word over the EDC shortwave broadband that something might be amiss. "You've got to be kidding me," she mutters to herself. Spike Witwicky stands up and puts himself between the attack and his wife. A combination of both husbandly and soldierly instincts mroe than anything. His eyes narrow, "Xabbbbat!" he says in a hiss, much like Montalban's "Kiiiiirk!" Compton Xabat snickers. "Heheheh, the SAME!" "Oh, shit...!" Jayson is immediately on guard, drawing his gun and clutching it tightly. He forcefully restrains himself from firing on Compton, although his instincts are telling him to. "You *bastard*," he hisses dangerously to the assailant. Firing off a shot could endanger Spike...and it's not a risk he's willing to take. Michael Briar blinks and moves. He jumps out of the chair grabbing it as he does with his metal hand. The metal chair bends slightly, just so Mikey can get a good grip on it and pulls it around him nearly clocking people in the process. But it clears their heads and gets whipped at Xabat while he gets between his Secretary General. He shouts out, "Someone get the Witwicky's out of here!" William turns at the sounds and spies what he'd feared. Well, not exactly what he'd feared, but there's guns, and that's not good. Ripping off his glasses, he begins pushing his way through the crowd, not treating them with kid gloves. As he walks, his armor materializes much like the helmets in Stargate (the movie) and as he gets to within a good distance, his pistol is already pulled and leveled at the seeming leader. As his red eye-band reflects the lights of the ceiling, his voice comes across with a distinctive mechanical reverb. "Drop your weapons or die. I don't care which." William's tribal bands suddenly start expanding to cover his body. The band on his neck reveals sections form fitted to his head, while the band on his waist expands to form the chest armor. The bands on his wrists and ankles cover his arms and legs in a burst of sudden motion that has only been seen in the movies. Carly Witwicky seems to have spaced a second. " Oh no you don't" she stands up as Spike stands between her and the action. Her brows furrow a moment before the bottom trim of her dress is hitched up, revealing a thigh holster which her hands quickly unfasten the strap and removes the gun. " I am still EDC, dear you can't put your self in front of me. You simply can't do that" her words were firm but gentle at the same time. She looks toward Compton " You really don't want to do this do you?" gun not aimed but still in hand. Marissa Faireborn wishes she brought a gun now, but she wasn't meant to be on duty for this. She does have mace in her purse, but she left that by the table for Spike to watch over. Well maybe the SecGen can use that to defeat Compton. Somehow. Tossing the dish aside, Marissa quickly snaps into action. "Nobody panic!" she calls out to those near the champagne + snack table. "Come along this way..." she begins shooing people for the exits away from Compton, keeping a close eye on the ex-Neo Ar- I mean Protectorate. Powerglide jumps at all the commotion, suddenly becomming aware of what was going on. Are you serious? He gets distracted for five seconds and people start pulling guns out on eachother. What was he supposed to do? Tackle the guy and crush /everyone/ around him? No. Rodimus would never let him live it down. "Woah now, let's got go off our rocker now, guy.." F-16 Falcon starts to circle the area for no other reason than the fact that Dreadwind is lost in deep dark thoughts, luckily it is an autonomic response of his otherwise he'd likely end up crashing, a lot. ooO(Another Seacon? Typical as if the ones we have already aren't enough to deal with, but who could it be? Probably me, it would explain why they seem to be following me everywhere that i go, it'll turn out i'm Piranacon's rear shielding device, i just know it.)Ooo Almost grudgingly the F-16 starts to bank slowly pulling around for a strafing run, well at least Dreadwind appears to be partially following orders. Arcee jerks her head up, freezing in spot, her optics sharpening. Wonderful. How was it that these things /always/ sort of happen when they're out? She doesn't say a word or move. Too much risk of hurting the humans there. She keeps her back perfectly straight, glancing at Powerglide before looking down at the humans again, opening a tightband. <> James Bailey nudges Jayson, then takes a few steps back and starts to drift around behind the small group of top brass they were kissing up to earlier - he ducks down a little, using them as cover as he works his way closer to the Witwickys. Along the way he pulls up one of his pants legs and draws a tiny hand pistol from the holster there. Compton Xabat looks shocked for a moment, butducks his head under the flying chair, growling, "I warned you, Putas! Now I am going to shoot your precious Sec-Gen! Quickly, men, grab hostages! My suit will be here in thirty seconds! Then they are SCREWED! Hahaha!" The thugs scatter, trying to make a grab for the various guests assembled here. "Not again!" the Prime Minister of Norway grumbles. "And as for you, Spike..." Xabat grins, aiming at Spike's leg. *BLAM* His gaze turns back to William. "Hello, there, Mr. Car Buyer Person! Sorry to meet you again like this! But anyway, if you fire your weapons, I shoot your Spikey there in the heart this time. Well, maybe you could shoot me first, but with those military grade weapons... well... there's no telling what kind of collateral damage you'll do, hm?" Spike Witwicky gets plugged in the chest. Not a heart shot thankfully, but it's definitely in the chest. And no exo to deflect it this time either. He takes the shot in the chest and crumples like an accordion into a heap on the ground. Wherever there is a fight more often then not the Combaticons are not far behind and, specifically, Onslaught is at the head of his troops. He drives at a breakneck pace toward the U.N. Building, swerving to the right to cover the front of the building, before he comes to a stop and turns his weapons toward the targets that have appeared on his computer screen. "Brawl, you position yourself to provide fire support on the other side. Vortex, you are on targetting spotting and enemy suppression." Compton Xabat quirks a brow, peeking over at Spike. "Oops! My aim was a little off! Oh well! Hahaha!" "Su entierro, puta (Your funeral, bitch)" responds William in perfect Spanish. Living in Mexico will do that for a guy. Watching the shot put Spike to the ground, the Militant looks down at the Secretary General. His face is unreadable as it's behind his armor, but his intent is obvious. Moving his arm just a bit to the right, he pulls the trigger and one of Xabat's thugs takes a bullet to the brain-pan. William moves his arm back to aim at Compton, "Last chance." Finger on the trigger, the Black Ops CO stares down the former Protectorate member. M1A2 Abrams's turbine engines hiss and howl as he gears down and cuts across the grounds, tearing strips out of the perfect green lawn. "Okay! I'll go around the other side an' flank 'em, taking 'em by surprise! I'll be real quiet, they won't know about our secret plan or nothin'!" Seahawk helicopter (Vortex) starts to bank to the left. The Seahawk laughs, an odd sound from a helicopter. "Pick them off one at a time? Oh boss, I didn't know I got a present.." he starts to line up people, trying to choose his targets based on how loud they scream. The time to strike is...NOW! Mecha-Tiger leaps out of the shadows and pounces. There's humans all over the place, and the Tiger swats at them, trying to pin one down like a housecat trying to snag a tasty mouse. F-16 Falcon finally lines up sufficiently for the attack his engine flares to life a bright signal in the dark skies as he speeds downwards, "I just know this is all going to go horribly wrong, any minute the autodefences will activate, reveal themselves and shoot me down." Having stated his preferred doom for the current action Dreadwind opens up with his machine guns firing indescriminantly. Marissa Faireborn continues to shoo the party goers out. It's like being the fire marshall during a fire drill, except instead of it being a fire drill it's a crazy nut trying to kill everybody. And... according to the EDC transmisions flying about, Combaticons as well. Ok it's nothing like being a fire marshall, but one way or another Faireborn soon finds herself out of the assembly hall, making a mad dash to the parking lot while trying to remain dignified in her pretty black dress. F---, she thinks to herself. She left her purse back at the table. Spike had better be protecting that thing, as it has all her credit cards and ID in it. Marissa doesn't want to even think about all the hassle she'll have to go through to void all those copies and get new ones. Out in the parking lot, Marissa quickly finds her Warthog. It is, after all, a hover tank taking up two and a half parking spots. It is parked next to a Toyota. The Toyota looks extra dinking next to the tank. Muttering about why she didn't take a fluit suit to the ball, Marissa hikes up her dress and gets set to board the tank. Carly Witwicky makes a squeeky half scream sound glancing around for a second before dropping the gun to the floor. Once the gun is out of her hands she crouches down beside her husband, ripping off part of her dress wadding it up and pressing it to the wound. " Be still I am serious no fooling with this, and trying to fight like this." she says in a firm Wifely tone. Standing up " Don't move I am going to ge-.. Ack!" her sentance is cut short as Rampage knocks her over, she glares toward Rampage, as if it will do any bit of good. M1A2 Abrams spins his automatic 40mm grenade launcher toward the windows as he flanks the building, laying down a bracketing fire with a steady BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM that knocks chunks of masonry off of the UN building and threatens to shred anyone caught in the open! Jayson Redfield follows after James, looking frustrated by the entire situation. He becomes enfuriated as Spike is shot, is finger tightening on the trigger, but still he does not fire. He needs to get closer--he is downright PISSED at this point, and Compton is going to pay for this. NO ONE hurts his friends. He keeps down, creeping about and trying not to draw attention to himself. Taking cover, he carefully aims at Compton...and pulls the trigger. James Bailey, having long since abandoned his attempt to get to the Witwickys, now rushes for a side door. He has to duck shrapnel pieces of falling masonry as some Decepticon begins spraying grenades into the building. Onslaught also turns his weapons on the building as the humans start to pour out of it, raising his barrels to their maximum elevation, before he cleanly and methodically starts to blast away at the outer face of the UN building floor by floor as Brawl does so as well. Marissa isn't alone, however. Sometimes, an old man just gets an itch to scratch, and knowing that Marissa could use all-hands on deck, a familiar to her.. and some of the others here form is currently handling traffic. "...you still owe me a dance, Colonel Faireborn." the former Secretary General says to the Colonel before Edward offers a quick salute. "Alex, Gwen, get everyone inside and make sure that any reinforcement has up to date information." Alex, the firstborn of the Bryant twins, nods his head, brown hair responding in kind to the motion as he looks over at his sister. "You heard the old man." Gwen smiles thinly. "I'll make sure mom knows as well." she winks. "Behave you two." Edward says with a thin smirk, as he shakes his head. "Don't worry, I ain't going out there to get my head ripped off, kids. I know when I'm out of practice." With that, the three move to herd the diplomats down into the basement. "Keep them off our backs, Colonel!" Nate Briar is on another rooftop nearby and happens to have his security detail all planned out. His Glaive? It's readied for anything. Except for this. Nonetheless, he hopes into it and charges into the building to try and hold parts of the roof from falling down and killing people. Like Redfield and his supersoaker weapons. Michael Briar ducks falling chunks of wall, plaster, and masonary. Past screaming people and turned over tables. Michael rips the eyepatch off. The time to play pirate is over. He taps at his ear peice before runing towards the burning and damaged UN building. Fury is on the scene, for what it's worth. She comes hurtling down like a dropped bomb, in a barely controlled dive. There's that obnoxious A-10. She zeroes in on Powerglide as an offense to Cybertronian aesthetics. Takes one to know one, clearly. Compton Xabat bemusement at shooting Spike ends as he is splattered by the contents of one of his thug's head. "Ack--! Well, ok then, Mr. Car-Buyer person, you want to play it that way.." Suddenly, with an Earth-shaking crash, a Protectorate exo-suit, its paint peeling off in many places, smashes through the wall of the assembly building, spraying plaster and debris everywhere as it rockets towards Xabat. Just as it reaches him, the suit kicks its legs forward, blasting exhaust to halt its momentum. Then, gently, it settles down besides Xabat... right as Jayson shoots at him. SPANG! The bullet ricochets harmlessly off. The suit opens up, and Xabat grins cockily as he climbs into it. "Thanks to my patented Auto-Exo technology, I brought my own little toy, WILLIAM! Yes, I am continuing to advance exo-suit technology FORWARD--" His suit seals up around him. "--and leaving YOU behind." The exo's red camera swivels over to Spike, lying down besides Carly and Rampage. "Well, I won't leave HIM behind... by the way, what the hell took you stupid Decepticons so long?" Startled, Arcee staggers back as she's hit. The attack doesn't really /hurt/ that much, but slag if it isn't irritating, and she's not at all in a mood to deal with this. Withdrawing her own weapon, she takes aim at Dreadwind as he sails past, taking a few shots. The humans can deal with the humans being an issue. The Decepticons could make things worse. They need to prevent that. For all she wants to help protect Spike and Carly. The last thing she wants to see is Daniel's family torn apart by this disaster. Marissa Faireborn presses her palm against the side of the Warthog. The automatic scanner registers the print and the hover tank opens up to allow her access. Lucky for her, as her keys are also back in her purse. Before she boards, however, an unexpected but familiar voice is heard behind her. Turning about, eyes wide, the Colonel sees ex-SecGen Bryant working practice. "/Edward/?" Marissa exclaims, clearly surprised. The old man quickly starts barking orders like he was born for it, and Marissa falls into line. Smiling, she returns the salute. Wearing a dress, earings, with her hair done up, and wearing makeup, Marissa looks hilarious saluting in front of a tank. "Yes sir," she quips. Marissa turns about and boards the Warthog. Within moments, the tank is powering up. The top turret, a nasty piece of work consisting of a single barrel backed with missile pods on both sides, swivels about. Marissa drives the tank through the parking lot, narrowly avoiding smashing into several amazingly expensive parked cars, trying to get a better shot on the Combaticons. Once she's away from the civilians, the turret raises up and cuts loose with a single artillery blast, trying to knock Vortex out of the sky. Ka-blam! As William is about to retort, Compton's exo comes crashing through the ceiling. Raising an arm and crouch-twisting, he waits for the bullets to pass and as Compton turns to grasp Spike, William springs into action. Or would have if he didn't take a shell from Brawl at the same time. The concussion blows him back into a table, breaking it into splinters as his excessive weight overloads it. Scrambling to his feet, he re-levels his pistol and pulls the trigger, aiming at the man that's already shot Spike and keeps calling him Mr. Car-Buying person. Powerglide was starting to freak out as he saw Spike take a nice, painful shot to the chest. Oh sweet, baby Primus, what the hell?! The party was lame, sure, but he didn't want THIS to make it exciting. "Spike!" he shouted, followed by, "Oh shit, Carly!" as the woman was man-handled by Rampage. Before he could really do anything, he was struck and proceeded to stumble a bit; smoke streaming from the new wound. "Mother fu-," he turned and aimed his laser rifle at the Decepticrap who dared hit him. "I'm takin' you down!" was his battle cry as he fired a shot at that poor sucker, Fury. Jayson Redfield utters a curse as he ducks under a nearby table, cocking his gun. He watches the now-armored Compton closely, desperately considering his options. There's not much he can do against an exo-suit...but there's still something he can do. He darts over to Spike, hoping to get between him and Compton. At least he can get him to safety...he hopes. "Just hang on, Mr. Witwicky!" The sound of sirens pierces the air, even above than the screams of the fleeing humans and the sounds of fighting. Engine roaring and sirens blaring as loudly as possible, a M997A2 races through the scene as headlights activate online at full brightness. Fortunately, humans know better than to run in front of a speeding ambulance, so her approach is not slowed down too badly, even with debris in her path (which is thus knocked aside or ran over). /Come on, come on...!/ Peacekeeper silently growls to herself as she continues moving. /Don't let me be too late!/ Even as the building is blasted by the cons, Michael enters dodging a falling beam here, a dead body there. General stuff that could hurt the General. Well, save for the dead body...unless it was undead, which it isn't. Michael runs a short distance to the large seal of the UN on the far wall. Even with diplomats running by, and Edward, Michael nods to him quickly. He taps a hidden switch splitting the wall which slides open showing a metal hallway. Michael runs a short way down that until he comes to the launch bay under the UN building, where the Unity is. Even down here, the rumbling can be heard. "Unity, let's go to work..." and if on cue, the Unity starts up flashing its optics for Michael. He climbs aboard and they both take off up the tunnel leading to the nearby parking garage basement. He explodes out of the main gate and into the sky. Michael assess the situation and turns towards Onslaught. Obviously the biggest meanie of the group. Michael drops down on him with his foot leading the way. "Decepticon, since when were you invited to the party? I didn't see your name on the list." Michael calls out as he drops down on the con. [concluded in In_The_Line_Of_Fire!_%28conclusion%29]